


From Broadhead to Nock

by Widening_Gyre



Category: Arrow (TV 2012)
Genre: Gen, Season/Series 03 Spoilers, T rating is just to be safe for slight swearing and mentions of drug use and violence, Team as Family, coming together after the Ra's thing, everyone is awesome, potentially more characters added later
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-02-20
Updated: 2015-02-25
Packaged: 2018-03-13 21:58:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 3
Words: 4,331
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3397796
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Widening_Gyre/pseuds/Widening_Gyre
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Oliver Queen started the vigilante game in Starling City, but he's not the only player that keeps it going. Even with Oliver gone, Team Arrow flies as true as its namesake-- because each component is bound together, from broadhead to fletching to nock.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Felicity and Diggle; Support

**Author's Note:**

> One of my absolute favorite things thus far in S3 is the development of Team Arrow and the relationships between its members. These are going to be a collection of drabbles detailing one character's perspective on another.

Felicity's first thought when meeting John Diggle (probably  _most_ people's first reaction, too) is that the guy is  _huge._ With his height and muscle, he manages to make Oliver look small-- which is no mean feat, considering that Oliver is pretty built himself. Her second thought is _holy shit he's ex-military_. Diggle probably knows multiple ways to kill her with paperclips, or whatever else they teach combat specialists these days. Overall, the effect is pretty intimidating. And Felicity's not afraid to admit that she's a little scared, working with two _really dangerous_ people in a secret lair underneath a nightclub in the most dangerous part of town. 

 

That changes, though, when Felicity has her third big thought about John Diggle: that he's a godsend. Because, behind that giant physique is a heart just as big to match, and it's always ready to support Felicity when she needs it. Diggle is a salt-of-the-earth kind of guy; always calm, always practical, loyal to a fault. He sees the truth of the world around him and reflects that verity onto other people. Whenever Felicity is panicking because she's new to the whole high stress life or death thing, and Oliver is being stubborn and, well, _Oliver_ , Diggle is the one who tethers them to earth. Somehow, he knows that Felicity responds better to questions and goals rather than pointless platitudes; he can tell when Oliver is having a hard time and needs someone to talk to. His steady competence is invaluable. 

 

The fourth thought that Felicity Smoak has about John Diggle is that he's far more complex than many give him credit for. Diggle's solid, steady, but _not_ staid. As she gets to know him better, Felicity finds quirks and qualities that stay hidden from the casual observer behind a mask of stoicism. She discovers that Dig's got a good sense of humor. He's always ready with a sarcastic quip that he'll deliver, straight-faced, to Oliver when he's being ridiculous, or a small self-depreciating smile when he does something silly himself. She learns that when he gets curious, Dig's as insatiable as she is-- he'll get giddy and excited and very un-Dig like and ask a million questions. She discovers that they share a deep appreciation for fried, unhealthy foodstuffs and science fiction. Sometimes, when Oliver is off being broody and mysterious, she and Dig will sit in the Arrow-cave with milkshakes and Big Belly Burgers and argue about which _Star Wars_ film is the best, or whether the Terminator reboot is going to be any good. When Dig manages to find a babysitter for Sara, he texts Felicity about which tie he should wear to his dinner-date with Lyla; when Felicity considers joining a gym Dig gives her recommendations. They're co-workers, friends, and allies against the demons of Oliver's past. They share a bond based on trust. 

 

But then, Felicity shatters it. She lets the bad guys get away because she is _terrified_ of losing more friends, and she can see the betrayed hurt on Diggle's face. So she leaves, she withdraws, because they can be stupid and get themselves killed but  _they can't make her watch_ ; can't make her analyse every detail of their dead bodies like she did for Sara. Oliver's gone, Oliver's  _dead,_ and they're all doomed without him. 

 

Later, realization sparks. She had always thought that Oliver was invincible; that he would always manage to cheat death like a modern-day Robin Hood. Despite all logic, she had believed in the mythos surrounding his superhero persona. But, that had never been true. Oliver was skilled, and incredible, and amazing at what he did-- but he was still just a person, in the end. Just like she, and Roy, and Diggle were people. Oliver had dedicated himself to a cause, but the cause didn't have to die with him. And, ultimately Oliver didn't die for the city; he died for his sister. It makes sense, to Felicity. By taking up the mantle, they can honor how Oliver lived _and_ how he died. They can pay homage to his dedication to justice, to Starling, and to protecting the people he loved. They can go on being Team Arrow. 

 

When she pitches her idea to the boys, Felicity is passion and vision and everything that she'd been missing since Oliver died. But, the whole time her gaze drifts to Diggle in particular. ' _Please, forgive me',_  she implores in her mind. And then, Diggle agrees, and she can almost feel the nebulous idea of  _them_ solidifying into a group, because he's always been a cornerstone. It's creation, and moving on from grief, and forgiveness.

 

The next weeks are filled with bumps as they adjust, and although much of it is worrying and tense it's also  _so rewarding_ because Felicity is rebuilding her family of superheroes and misfits. She can see that Diggle is beginning to trust her again, and they start to regain their old comfortability.

 

And when Oliver comes back, things are different. Felicity has changed so much and has re-evaluated her (unrealistic) views of Oliver, and talking to him seems to be like talking to a stranger. It would all be very upsetting, but Felicity  _knows_ that she can survive it, because she has before... and because, once again, she has Diggle's strong support behind her. 

 

It may have started out as Oliver's personal crusade, but now it's their collective mission; and Felicity and Diggle will fight to keep it on a moral course. She knows that they can do it, because they've been there from the start, she and Diggle, and together they can move mountains. 


	2. Sara and Felicity; Hope

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> \- I'm still not over Sara.

When Sara Lance first meets Felicity Smoak, she doesn’t give her much thought. Sara is still The Canary, and The Canary only sees assets and targets (and maybe her family). She does note that things go _much_ more smoothly when there’s someone to oversee and coordinate strategies. Plus, it’s nice not to have to do her own recon. That’s really all she thinks of on the matter.

 

As time passes and The Canary starts to blur back into Sara, she starts noticing Felicity more. And Sara is _not_ afraid of her, she’s _not,_ because she’s a goddamned assassin after all. But…

 

But, sometimes she is petrified of talking to Felicity Smoak. Because Felicity Smoak is always beautiful with fashionable clothing and perfect make-up, and she’s alarmingly intelligent. Felicity is quick-witted and her words flow out at a mile-a-minute, while Sara feels like she’s rolling marbles around her mouth when she tries to talk; Felicity has a hopeful, innocent fervor in her eyes that makes Sara feel tarnished and old beyond her years. Every time that Sara tries to strike up a conversation, she feels awkward and shy and socially incompetent—killing criminals is easy and painless in comparison.

 

Eventually, Sara realizes that their inability to talk might not be entirely her fault. Whenever she approaches Felicity the other woman tenses like a cat with its fur raised—as though Sara’s some kind of rabid dog that’s going to maul her with no provocation. It hits Sara, hard; harder than she would have thought. _‘Do I really seem that monstrous,’_ she wonders. It only gets worse when it dawns on Sara that Felicity has feelings for Oliver. Sara wants to talk to Felicity about it, want to clear the tension between them, but she _can’t._ The last woman that Sara had taken Oliver from was Laurel, and the mere idea of being responsible for that heartache _again_ is too painful. It’s an old, lingering wound that casts a pall over her relationship with Laurel, and seems destined to do the same with Felicity.  

 

They finally manage to make a breakthrough after Sara officially joins the team, and they have to work together to stop William Tockman. In the heat of it all, their past ambivalence vaporizes and something new is forged in its place; something born of respect and sacrifice that feels a lot like friendship. Sara sews up the bullet that Felicity took for her, and insists on giving her lessons in hand-to-hand. Felicity takes having her ass handed to her in stride, and brings Sara coffee liberally flavored with spices and doused in whipped cream. (Sara enjoys them more than she should, and will deny it vehemently if asked.)

 

Once Felicity notices that Sara has a very meager wardrobe consisting of several shirts and pants, she _demands_ that they go shopping.  Sara agrees because (she thinks) it’s the kind of thing that friends do; and because her clothing is fading and becoming threadbare from constant use and repeated washings. The experience of being in a _mall_ , of all places, is a surreal experience. Sara hasn’t been shopping for pleasure since college, and it feels like a lifetime ago.

 

Surprisingly, Felicity is a good shopping companion. Even though her own taste is far more colorful and feminine, Felicity is able to pick out clothes that suit Sara’s more subdued sense of style. Sara likes clothes that are dark, practical, and could easily conceal several weapons. Felicity does convince her to try on a dress, though.

 

“It’s not like you have to buy it,” she says reasonably. “Besides, a good black dress is useful for any occasion.”

 

Trying the dress on is a bit of a revelation for Sara. She’s spent so long in pants and the League’s training robes that she’d forgotten how _nice_ dresses feel; the pleasant swish of cotton folds against her legs as she turns. She steps out of the changing room, bare feet padding against the hardwood floor, and walks to a tri-fold mirror to assess.

 

The dress is all black, and the style reminds her of something Felicity might wear. The front has a high collar, and the bodice is tight until it flares from the hip. It stops a few inches above her knees: flirtatious but modest. (As an added bonus she would be able to hide knives on her upper thighs.) Sara meets her own eyes in the reflection and realizes that she’s smiling. She turns to see the back, which sports a large cut-out from shoulder to lower back, and watches her own face fall in the mirror as she notices the _scars._

 

Sara is not vain. In an assassin it is not practical or useful. But, she knows that once upon a time people had called her beautiful. Nyssa had called her beautiful too, but Nyssa loved her for her knife-smile and fierce heart more than any conventional beauty. Seeing the scars on her back is a horrifying juxtaposition to the delicate dress, and even though Sara Lance is not vain (anymore) she feels tears threaten behind her eyes at the loss.

 

Felicity comes forward then, from where she has been watching at a respectful distance, and lays a hand on Sara’s shoulder. “You look amazing, Sara,” she says softly. “Like the dress was made for you.”

 

Then, with more confidence, she continues. “Very badass too; very Xena.”

 

Sara can’t help but laugh at that, because she’s been compared to many things but Xena: Warrior Princess was never one of them. She wonders how Felicity knew just what to say to improve her mood; if Felicity comprehends how much it means for someone as lovely as her to give Sara a compliment. Her scars do not have to mar her beauty—they can enhance them, make her seem “badass” as Felicity put it.

 

Sara puts her hand over Felicity’s. “Thank you, Felicity,” she says. “I think I’m going to buy it.”

 

When Sara comes to the understanding weeks later that The Canary still has too great of a hold on her heart, she resolves to leave. Sara doesn’t want to be alone or an outsider anymore; doesn’t want to let her cold instincts put a wedge between her and the people she loves. The Canary, after all, hadn’t cared about Felicity Smoak, which was a big mistake.

 

Sara Lance saves Starling City, and then leaves it. She gives her big sister her jacket, and takes the dress she bought with Felicity. In the months that follow she’ll put it on and twirl around as the skirt flares out like a flower; dream of better days and remind herself that she can be more than a killer if she chooses.

 

Six months after she left, Sara returns to the city of her birth. She helps Oliver and Roy out of a tight spot, and is overcome with things she wants to say to them.

 

 _‘Sorry that I left so abruptly,’_ she wants to tell Oliver. _‘I needed to sort some things out on my own.’_

 

 _‘Sorry that I gave up on you,’_ she wants to tell Roy. _‘You’ve been doing a good job and I know Ollie’s proud of you.’_

 

As usual, the words stick in her mouth, but she doesn’t mind so much. Learning to speak again is going to take time. She’ll tell them later.

 

Sara seizes the opportunity to see Laurel while she’s in town, and is overjoyed to see her sister so happy. The depression of half a year ago is receding, and Laurel is more vibrant than ever. 

 

After saying goodbye, Sara perches on the edge of a rooftop. She considers organizing another trip to the mall with Felicity and Laurel. Make a day of it: Female Vigilantes and Affiliates of Starling City United. Sara wants to buy an impractically tall pair of heels because she _can_ , because she wants to continue rebuilding her identity as _herself_ and not someone’s paid assassin. Maybe, she smiles, she could get the shoes in bright canary yellow as a joke. Maybe she could test out the theory that stilettos are good as weapons _and_ footwear. Sara likes maybes, because they hint at possibilities, at a future. Sara Lance stands at the edge of a building and _hopes_ as she surveys the skyline and the twinkle of lights in the distance.

 

She never gets to buy her shoes.     


	3. Roy and Laurel; Grief

In his long and storied dealings with the law, Roy Harper has met _a lot_ of cops and lawyers. So, when he meets Quentin and Laurel Lance, he places them in the large mental file of ‘do-gooders who you shouldn’t piss off unless you want to be prosecuted’. Laurel Lance gets bumped into a slightly higher regard after he hears more about her. She runs a defense agency, sometimes almost pro bono, and takes on cases that others won’t; she fights for the little guy. And, the fact that she got Thea out of community service cements his goodwill—anybody who helps Thea is good in his book.

 

So when Tommy Merlyn dies in the earthquake, he actually feels sorry for her. Roy can’t even imagine how terrible it would have been if Thea had died (doesn’t want to imagine it, either). Laurel Lance and he are connected in that they know the same people—he knows her through osmosis. He’s heard stories about her; how Laurel Lance was Oliver’s _coolest_ girlfriend because she made time for eleven-year-old Thea and braided her hair. A part of his mental image of her is as Thea saw her, back then--  sunshine gold and tinted with childhood adulation and nostalgia.

 

Roy finally makes his own portrait of Laurel Lance when he sees her at the precinct. Seeing her standing at the end of the hallway, pantsuit and heels with her arms crossed in exasperation, sends a flashbulb image that sparks in his brain. For the first time, he feels like he actually _knows_ Laurel Lance. He can see the cracks in her, where holding her spine iron-straight has made her foundation brittle. The warm, confident lawyer that she presents herself as isn't a lie, but it conceals the deadly structural flaws that are caving her in from the inside.     

 

She clicks over to him and launches her sermon on the evils of the Arrow, and it’s obvious that she’s got some personal grudge against the vigilante. She’s just another in a long line of authority figures that Roy has become adept at not listening to. But, she is the first one in quite some time that has legitimate _concern_ for his wellbeing in her voice. He’s not sure why she cares, because she probably knows him as ‘Thea’s no-good criminal boyfriend’. Still, it’s nice to know that someone gives a damn. 

 

He’s vaguely aware of her, after that. Roy hears from Thea that Laurel and her father had been kidnapped, and that Laurel has developed substance abuse problems. While he sympathizes, Roy’s far too busy dealing with Mirakuru induced rages and hallucinations to give it any serious thought. Plus, funnily enough, being comatose and crazy aren’t good for long-term memory. For all Roy knows, he could have talked to Laurel Lance often and not remember it.

 

When Roy’s cured and he begins working with Oliver in earnest, Laurel starts showing up more often. She’ll swing by with case files and criminal bios, chat with Felicity, check up on news about Sara. She’s more confident now, more comfortable in her own skin. Before, her rapid switch from defender to prosecutor seemed like a coping mechanism—she channeled her hurt into her career, being on the offensive so she wouldn’t have to _think_ or _feel_. (Roy’s an expert at this; it’s old hat to him. Recognizing it in others isn’t difficult.) At last, she seems to have settled; she’s a prosecutor because she believes in justice, because she wants to help her city. For those six months, things are good. (As good as they can be without Thea, anyway.)

 

And then Sara dies, and it rips his world apart. Fragments of memories shift into horrible clarity during the night as he relives the sick sound of arrows whistling through the air and embedding themselves in her chest— _thwock, thwock, thwock._ The nightmare repeats luridly, night after night after night; he barely sleeps. Sometimes, he avoids rest altogether. When he’s not dreaming about Sara, it’s the shriek of metal in his ears and unending furious _rage_ as he almost beats a man to death with his bare hands. There’s one particularly disturbing dream that starts off happy, with he and Thea eating dinner together—he reaches over the table to hold her hand, and feels the crack of bones beneath his palm as he accidentally applies too much superhuman force. (She screams in agony, and he wakes up.)

 

But, what might be worse, is thinking of Laurel. He imagines the betrayal, the anger on her face when she finds out. She flies into a fury: hits him, _how could you,_ gouges his heart out (he’s not sure that he’d stop her).

 

He almost hopes that there’s residual Mirakuru in his system, because if not, then he’s going crazy (all on his own, this time).

 

Eventually, things progress to the point where he has to confront it; the sleep deprivation is starting to affect him too much to function. Laurel deserves to know. When they tell her, he hunches in on himself, waiting for a fist or an accusation. But there’s… nothing. She doesn’t blow-up, or attack him; Laurel just accepts it. He doesn’t understand—he’s almost disappointed.

 

After he realizes that he _didn’t_ kill Sara, he goes to Laurel’s apartment immediately. Explanations jitter on the tip of his tongue as he waits for her to answer the door, but whatever he’d planned to say disappears when she’s suddenly there. “I didn’t kill Sara,” he blurts out.

 

Laurel, standing with one hand still on the door, blinks. “Oh-- Hi, Roy--Good.”   

 

She pauses, regaining composure. “That’s really good. I’m glad. Would you--?” She steps back and beckons him inside.  

He steps over the threshold, into her home, and Laurel closes the door behind him. He takes in the details with a thief’s quick eye: warm reds and oranges, light wood, candles on the mantel and wine glasses on the coffee table. Roy pointedly stops looking when he sees a picture of the Lances, the Queens and the Merlyns together at one of Moira’s famous holiday parties—half of the people in the photo are dead.   

 

“So, how did you figure this out, exactly?” Laurel asks.

 

“Oliver—he helped me sort through some things,” he says lamely.

 

Like a true lawyer, Laurel hones in on the vague hesitancy and discomfort. “ ’Sort through some things’?”

 

Roy winces. Looks like he’s going to have to tell her. “Yeah,” he says, “I got my signals crossed. Sara’s death reminded me of something else and my brain just made the association.”

 

“You having memories of killing my sister isn’t _just making an association_ , Roy,” she says, eyebrows raised incredulously. “There’s more to it than that.”

 

“Yeah, uh, well…” Moment of truth, he better just get it over with. “Turns out that I killed someone, a cop, when I was on Mirakuru and after I totally lost it. I, uh, stabbed him with an arrow, and my memory is so full of holes that Sara was similar enough to jostle some loose—just not the right ones.”

 

Laurel’s expression shifts into one that he can’t entirely parse, but she’s clearly scrutinizing him and Roy fidgets in discomfort. He just confessed a murder to a _district attorney_ , and a cop’s daughter to boot, and he knows that he looks like shit with bags under his eyes and sunken cheeks.

 

“It’s kind of a relief, actually.” Oh, god, that sounds horrible. “Not that killing anyone is a good thing! But, I mean, it’s better than having killed Sara. I would have hated doing that to you.” Jesus, he was rambling more than Felicity.

 

Roy draws in a breath to make excuses for a retreat, but finds himself unable to say anything when he sees Laurel. Her face is contorted with grief, a film of tears on her eyes and before he can process what’s happening she’s closed the distance between them and wrapped her arms around his shoulders.

 

For a moment, he freezes, before feeling a rush of guilt and hugging her back. He shouldn’t have let anyone tell Laurel before they had all of the information; he’s upset her for nothing.

 

“I’m sorry,” he says. “I’m sorry that I brought this up and then didn’t give you any answers.”

 

“It’s alright,” she murmurs. “It’s good that you did. At least we know now.”  

 

“And I’m sorry that you had to go through that,” she continues. “Killing someone feels terrible, even when they don’t give you any other choice. Even when they deserve it.”

 

Oh, yeah. The serial killer. Roy had forgotten that Laurel’s killed someone too.

 

“It’s not your fault, you know.”

 

“Mmhmm.”

 

She must have heard the disbelief in his voice. “No, I’m serious. I think that you have a pretty solid insanity defense.”

 

He laughs at that, a little too hysterically for his own taste. It feels wrong to joke about this, but it’s also very comforting. Roy may not believe her, but it’s nice to know that she doesn’t hate him, and that she has faith in him. Idly, he wonders if this is what having an older sister feels like.

 

Sniffling, Laurel steps back. She wipes away a few stray tears with the back of her hand. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to cry on you.”

 

“Don’t worry about it. I was the one who opened that can of worms,” he says nonchalantly. Roy’s pretty sure that he needed a hug too, but he’s going to salvage some of his dignity by not saying so.   

 

“Thank you for coming to tell me in person.”

 

“Hallmark doesn’t make cards for things like this, yet.”

 

This time it’s her turn to laugh at the black humor.

 

They pause for a few moments, before Roy says, “Well, I think I have to get going.”

 

Laurel nods, and opens the door for him. As Roy leaves, he feels a nagging suspicion picking at his brain. He turns around, and catches Laurel just as she’s closing the door. “Laurel?”

 

“Yes?” She stills, hand on the doorframe.

 

Roy thinks for a moment, trying to find the best words to describe the strange sensation that he has. “My false memory, it felt so real. Even now that I know that I didn’t do it, I still feel like what I remembered is the right scenario. I don’t know; maybe my mind made some kind of intuitive jump.” He thinks of Sara and her sad, hurt expression as she fell.

 

“I’m certain that she knew whoever killed her.”  

 

Laurel nods. “Unfortunately, I wouldn’t be surprised. I was within earshot, and Sara didn’t call for help. Added to the fact that the arrows were centered in her chest, like she was facing her attacker head on, not even trying to dodge…”

 

“…Which Sara would never do, because she’s too well trained for that,” Roy finishes.

 

“Exactly,” Laurel says with a hint of satisfaction. “We’ll have to keep it in mind.”

 

“Be careful, Laurel.”

 

 She smiles. “You too, Roy. Take care of yourself: go get some sleep.”

 

 He waves; she closes the door. He goes home, and sleep isn’t easy, but it’s better with Laurel’s reassurances replaying in his mind.

 

 When Laurel emerges in Canary black weeks later, Roy can’t say that he’s surprised. And, while he has his initial reservations, Roy can’t really disapprove of anyone recklessly taking on a mask. (He did the same thing, after all. It would be hypocritical.) Plus, despite her inexperience, he and Laurel work well together. When they fight, they watch out for each other; when they strategize, they collaborate plans where he’s the distraction that lets her slip in unnoticed. They find a rhythm, a partnership, because they have a memory of a hug and support to build from. Neither of them is Oliver Queen, but between the two of them they’re tenacious, dedicated and stubborn by half—they make it be enough.

 

 They have a city to save, after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Even when I'm not writing about Sara, I'm writing about Sara. 
> 
> But, in all seriousness, the relationship between Roy and Dinah is one of my favorites in the DCU (in comic book form, anyway). Getting to see some of it onscreen, especially in this past season, has been such a treat for me! The working dynamic that Roy and Laurel have is VERY different than Oliver and Roy or Oliver and Laurel, because they're starting from a similar skill level and learning together as opposed to being taught. 
> 
> I didn't even get into the addiction similarities (it's show canon for Laurel, and quasi-show canon/comic canon for Roy). That's a chapter for another day.


End file.
